


Camellia Station

by Ashtiel



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Slice of Life, elliott questioning his purpose, pretty much just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 07:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14689200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtiel/pseuds/Ashtiel
Summary: Andrew, the new farmer in Stardew Valley, is concerned for his husband, Elliott."Elliott was a writer; he’d mastered words long ago, but his actions still gave him away."





	Camellia Station

**Author's Note:**

> I just have so much love for Stardew Valley, and Elliott in particular. The marriage between him, and my character, a purple-bearded man named Andrew, gives me life. I couldn't stop myself from writing this.
> 
> Very minimal editing. Fair warning.

Andrew rolled over, sniffling at the sun that streamed in through the window over the bed. Whose idea had it been to put the window there, anyway? He’d never been able to sleep past six in the morning.

Usually, Elliott didn’t either. He was always up at five, brewing coffee and working on his latest novel at the dining room table.

But not this morning. Or, really, this week. Elliott was still asleep, his golden hair tangled around his face and his arms wrapped around himself. He always slept like he was worried he took up too much space.

Andrew reached out with a cold foot and nudged his husband’s shin.

“Dear,” Elliott said, without opening his eyes, “if you don’t keep your frigid feet to yourself, I’m going to sleep in the cabin.”

“It’s the middle of winter. Good luck with that,” Andrew chuckled as slid both his feet under Elliott’s legs. “What’re you still doin’ in bed? You missed the sunrise.”

“Who’s to say I missed it? Perhaps I welcomed the new day, then I bid it adieu.”

Andrew brushed a lock of hair from Elliott’s cheek. “That’s not like you. Everything okay?”

“My wildest dreams have come true. I couldn’t be happier.”

“Alright,” Andrew said. Elliott was a writer; he’d mastered words long ago, but his actions still gave him away.

There was no use pressuring him now, though. The cows needed to be milked, and he was pretty sure the parsnips in the greenhouse would be ripe this morning. There was too much to do to lie in bed and run in circles.

“I’ll be outside, if you need company,” Andrew said. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Elliott’s cheek, then climbed out of bed and wiggled into his overalls.

Elliott snuggled further into his pillow.

 

* * *

 

Andrew harvested thirty parsnips, sheared the sheep, and milked the cows before he saw Elliott emerge from the house.

He was carrying two cups of coffee, and he’d tied his hair back in a messy bun. His hair was so thick, it looked like it was going to snap the hair tie any second.

“For you, dear,” Elliott said, holding out a cup of coffee. It was cloudy with milk, just the way Andrew liked it.

Andrew wiped his hands on his pants before reaching out to take it; he didn’t want mayonnaise on his cup. “Thanks.”

Elliott tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “I apologize for this morning. I fear I’m feeling rather odd today.”

“You gettin’ sick?”

“I should hope not. No, I just had my appointment with Dr. Harvey. I fear it’s something else. I shouldn’t know what.” Elliott took a sip of his coffee, without looking at him.

Andrew frowned. “I’m here for you, if you need anything. But I’ve got to get this mayonnaise made. Marnie ordered a jar for her special dinner with Mayor Lewis tonight, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was too busy.”

“That’s my man: perpetually productive,” Elliott hummed. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. “Make your mayonnaise. I’ll find something to do. Perhaps take a walk to the beach. I do miss the sound of the waves.”

Andrew took a long drink of coffee, then set the mug on the windowsill of the hen house.

“Have fun, pretty boy. Don’t forget to come back,” he said.

Elliott turned to leave, letting his hair out of its bun, lest the townspeople see him as anything short of flawless. “I shall try not to be too tempted by the sea,” he said. And then he was gone, walking down the well-trodden path that lead to town.

Andrew stared after him. Elliott was always dramatic, but there was something off. They hadn’t been married too long, just a couple seasons, but he liked to think that he knew his husband. Maybe he’d give him a duck feather. That always seemed to cheer him up.

 

* * *

After delivering the fresh mayonnaise to Marnie and tossing Jaz a sweet, Andrew found his way back to the farm and cut down a few wayward trees before calling it a night.

He was throwing hops in one of the kegs when Elliott slipped back into the house, as quiet as a shadow brute. If Andrew hadn’t been facing the door, he wouldn’t have seen him at all.

“How was the beach?” Andrew asked as he shoved the cork back into the keg. It still had a long time to brew before it got anywhere close to the pale ale that Elliott secretly enjoyed.

“Calming. I watched the waves come and go, just like old times,” Elliott said. He hung his overcoat on the rack by the door and unwound his cravat.

“I made fish stew,” Andrew said. “Want some?”

“I ate some crystal fruit I found on the way back, but thank you, dear.”

Andrew felt his eyebrows draw together. Elliott never refused seafood. Either he was incredibly ill, or… well, he wasn’t sure what else it could be.

“You sure you aren’t sick?” Andrew asked.

“No, my dear. Only tired. I think I’ll go to bed now, actually. Perhaps the new dawn tomorrow will revitalize me.”

Well, at least he was admitting there was something wrong. That was a step in the right direction.

“Alright,” Andrew said. “Want me to join you?”

Elliott smirked, but it was tired. “I don’t have the energy to entertain you.”

“You’ve read too much smut,” Andrew said. “If you thought you were gettin’ anything from me after everything I’ve done today, you’re dead wrong.”

At that, Elliott actually managed a genuine smile. “Mhm. Fine. As long as you promise to behave yourself.”

“I’m gonna be asleep in ten minutes, just you watch. Gonna take a quick shower first, though.”

“No!”

Andrew blinked.

Elliott cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “I, uh- I mean, I would prefer if you didn’t. You smell sweet. Like a honeycomb drifting on a pool of spice tea. It’s grounding.”

“Okay,” Andrew said, his own cheeks tinting. “After you, then.”

Elliott spun on his heels almost woodenly, heading toward the bedroom. How could someone so good with words be so awkward with everything else?

Andrew shucked off his boots, his overalls, and his worn baseball cap, stacking them all on his chest at the end of the bed. He winced as he peeled off his shirt. God, he smelled.

Elliott was already in bed when he turned around, covers pulled all the way up to his chin, his back toward Andrew’s side of the bed.

Andrew climbed in beside him. Elliott didn’t seem to want to be touched, so he kept his hands to himself, lying in the bed like a dried corn-husk doll, arms pinned at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” Elliott whispered to the wall. “I truly don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Have you done any writin’ this week?”

Elliott shook his head.

“Stuck? I could brainstorm with you, if you want.”

“Fertile soil beneath my feet, fresh air to fill my lungs, and the sun's warmth to delight my skin; I have all the inspiration I could hope for.”

Andrew propped himself up on an elbow, his bearded chin resting against his fist. “But somethin’s still stoppin’ you.”

Elliott was quiet, so Andrew went out on a limb, reaching out to stroke a hand down his husband’s back.

“I thought you agreed to behave yourself,” Elliott said, leaning back into the touch.

“What, every time I touch you, it’s supposed ta lead to sex? Well then, pretty boy, we’ve got a lotta catchin’ up to do.”

Elliott hummed, but didn’t respond.

Andrew continued his ministrations, moving from Elliott’s back to his shoulders, where he worked out the surprisingly-huge knots with one calloused thumb.

Elliott sighed and went still, body pliant under his hands. Andrew was half convinced he’d gone to sleep when he said, “It’s my parents.”

Andrew stilled. “Your parents?”

“They wrote me, the other day. They’d read my book.”

“Camellia Station?”

“The same. They wanted to know if I was ready to come home yet.”

Andrew squinted at Elliott’s back. “But, you accomplished your dream. You published your first book.”

Elliott turned, and even by the dim, golden light of the fireplace, Andrew could tell his eyes were glassy. “Let’s be honest with each other, dear. It was a minor success, at best. It hardly changed anyone’s world.”

“It changed _my_ world,” Andrew murmured.

Elliott sighed, but a tear slipped down his cheek. “You’re hardly unbiased.”

“I was when I read it.”

“Is that why you kept bringing my duck feathers? I could have written a stanza on a soggy newspaper, and you would have hung it on your wall.”

Andrew huffed. “That’s unfair. I love your writin’.”

“Well, you may be the only one. My parents… they wanted to know how I could publish such _filth_.” Elliott spat the final word, like he was trying to dislodge poison from his tongue.

That did it. Andrew couldn’t resist any longer. He reached out and grabbed Elliott’s shoulders, pulling him flush to his body. He nudged his stiff knees until they bent and slid an arm under Elliott’s neck. He didn’t stop until Elliott was completely cradled in his arms, playing the perfect little spoon.

“Stop,” Andrew said, his mouth hovering over Elliott’s ear. “Since when do you listen to them? You sure I let the right guy into my bed?”

“Don’t tease. I know you secretly gave Shane a gift the other day. Maybe the wrong man _has_ found his way into your bed.”

Andrew pressed a light kiss to his husband’s shoulder. “Now you’re just bein’ ridiculous. I give gifts because that’s how you make friends around here. It was a spiceberry I picked up on the way into town. If you wanna talk about goin’ out of my way, though, we can talk about the time I walked all the way to your shack with my first-ever duck feather _in the middle of a snowstorm_. At night. Never wanted anyone but you, from the moment I came to the valley.”

“Even if I hang off you like a lead weight for the rest of your days? I never had much success growing even houseplants. I’ll never be able to support us with my writing, I spend most of my days reading in the sun, and I don’t even know how to run the mill. Face it, my dear. I’m useless.”

“You make a pretty good heater,” Andrew said, pressing his palm to Elliott’s bare chest.

Elliott sighed.

“Sweetheart,” Andrew said, “you’ve gotta keep writing. Farmin’ is well and good, but what happens when we get so old that I can’t tell a parsnip from a pumpkin? We’re gonna need those royalty checks from your books.”

“This week, I brought in ten dollars.”

“And I put it in a savin’s account. Before too long, it’ll be eleven.”

“I’m not in the mood to laugh.”

Andrew pressed another kiss to Elliott’s shoulder. “I know, pretty boy, but one of us has gotta keep it light. Can’t see the situation clearly in the dark.”

“This is why I write the poetry.”

“See, that was a joke! It’s workin’.”

Elliott chuckled, but it sounded wet, like he was still trying to choke back tears.

“Elliott, your parents are wrong. Your book was great, and there’s gonna be a whole lot more. You could move back with them, but I would miss you a whole awful lot. I still don’t know how you get your calamari so crunchy.”

“I suppose the problem is that this all feels so temporary. Like it’s a dream, and I’ll wake up, back in my cabin, surrounded by blank pages. Alone.”

Andrew squeezed his husband tighter. It was probably uncomfortable, but Elliott didn’t complain. “You should know this is real, pretty boy. We’ve tied the knot and everythin’. You’re not gonna get away from me that easily. And, if this was a dream, my feet would be a lot warmer.”

Elliott wiggled in his arms, and Andrew loosed his hold, giving him some slack. Elliott turned around, finally facing him. His cheeks were wet.

Andrew gathered him back to his chest. Elliott was taller, but he curled around Andrew like ivy around a trellis. His arms wrapped around Andrew’s torso, his legs tangled with his, and Elliott’s head rested on his chest. Andrew reached down and stroked his husband’s hair.

“I’m not so eloquent, when I speak aloud,” Elliott said. “Writing is much easier.”

“I think you’re doin’ pretty good. Still sounds fancy to me.”

Elliott snuggled down into Andrew’s chest. “Thank you anyway. For listening to me. I suppose some things needed to be said.”

“Thanks for sharin’. I don’t like seein’ you so down. Like I said, we’re stuck together now. If you gotta deal with me brewing beer at six in the mornin’ and goin’ into town but forgetting to buy the sugar, and comin’ back to the house at one in the mornin’, covered in blood and slime, it’s only fair that I listen to you once in awhile.”

“Mhm. You make a good point, my dear. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Andrew pressed a kiss to the top of Elliott’s head. “I love you, pretty boy.”

“From the brightest winter star, to the shimmer of an iridium vein... nothing can compare to my wonderful man,” Elliott mumbled.

Andrew chuckled. “Poetry? You can’t just say it back?”

“When I behold thy wondrous face, a precious jewel of form and grace, my heart...torn by the dread of night, is purified with golden light. Poetry is the only way I can begin to describe my feelings for you.”

“Elliott.”

Elliott traced a finger across Andrew’s chest, sighing. “Fine, my dear, have it your way. I love you too.”

“See, isn’t that easier?”

“I’ve never done things the easy way. It’s part of my charm.”

Andrew smiled. If he had to make a list of things he loved about his husband, that would be near the very top. Right under…

“Andrew. Just because I’ve cried on you doesn’t mean that you can touch me with those ice cubes you call toes.”

Andrew just laughed.


End file.
